


It's Rotten Work

by Freckles_From_Brooklyn



Series: Preemptive Fix-it Fics because god knows we're gonna need it [19]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Happy new episode day everyone we're terrified!, M/M, Preemptive fix it, partially post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freckles_From_Brooklyn/pseuds/Freckles_From_Brooklyn
Summary: Jon has a bad habit of falling asleep at his desk
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Preemptive Fix-it Fics because god knows we're gonna need it [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132277
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	It's Rotten Work

Jon had a bad habit of working a lot later than he should. Sometimes it was intentional. Sometimes he’d stay late to finish a research project or record a few extra statements. Most of the time, he’d just be too intensely focused on something to notice the late hour. Whatever the reason for it, this habit of his lead to him falling asleep at his desk more than was probably healthy, but Jon didn’t really care. It was only affecting him, and none of the others needed to know about it.

Then Martin found out. He was sleeping in the archives after having been trapped in his apartment by Jane Prentiss, and he had gotten up to get a glass of water in the middle of the night when he saw that the light in Jon’s office was still on. He’d approached the office, initially just intending to turn it off, assuming that Jon had forgotten about it and left it on when he’d left. As he opened the door, he saw that Jon was still there, his head resting on his arms, his glasses on the desk next to him, snoring softly. Martin had approached hesitantly and shaken Jon awake. Jon had sat bolt upright, scrambling for something,  _ anything _ he could use as a weapon before he saw Martin standing there looking vaguely guilty. 

“Martin, what the hell is this about?” He’d demanded. 

“It’s— erm— it’s midnight,” Martin had replied. “You fell asleep at your desk. I was just going to get myself a cup of water and I saw the light still on and I figured I should go turn it off and then I saw you and I thought I should wake you up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Martin,” Jon had said, putting his glasses back on and grabbing his coat. 

“I’ll walk you out,” Martin had offered. 

“That’s not necessary,” Jon had replied. 

“Jane Prentiss could be waiting to ambush you,” Martin had argued. “There’s safety in numbers.” Jon had just scoffed. 

“Martin, I’m sure I can handle a few worms,” he’d said. 

“No, you can’t,” Martin had replied, deadly serious. “Not these ones.” Jon had just sighed in response and grabbed his bag. 

“Fine,” he’d said. “Let’s go.” They walked through the darkened halls of the Institute side-by-side. Martin had always hated the Institute after dark. The building was never really the bright and cheery sort, but at night it was downright creepy. Martin felt like he was being watched from all directions, and he could have sworn he saw a tall, thin figure standing in the doorway of artifact storage. 

“You know sleeping at your desk is really bad for your back, right?” he’d said, desperately trying to distract himself. 

“What?” Jon had asked. 

“Sleeping at your desk murders your back,” Martin had replied. “It really isn’t good for it. You should probably see a chiropractor. I can give you my chiropractor’s number if you—” he noticed Jon staring at him, and he just cleared his throat awkwardly. “Right. Sorry.” Jon didn’t want to hear him rambling on. Jon didn’t even want him walking him to the door. Jon hated him, always had, always would. They eventually reached the door of the Institute and stopped for a moment. 

“So, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess,” Martin had said, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. 

“Right,” Jon had said, his voice curt and businesslike. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Martin. Thank you.” He cursed himself as he walked to his car. Martin had looked adorable in his oversized T-shirt and pajama pants, his red hair messy. He’d been so concerned about Jon, and Jon had wanted nothing more than to kiss him right then and there, but  _ god _ that would have been a mess. Who knew how many HR complaints that would have triggered? Martin was his employee. The power imbalance would have been too much. 

So Jon said nothing. He pushed his feelings to the side, stayed detached and professional with Martin, even as Martin continued to show concern, to fuss over him.  _ Nothing can ever come of this, _ he kept reminding himself.  _ This relationship has to stay professional.  _ He’d find plates of food and cups of tea on his desk constantly, and he’d sometimes wake up on the archive cot instead of at home in his own bed. He knew whenever this happened that it was Martin trying to take care of him, trying to help him, but he never allowed himself to dwell on it.  _ You’re colleagues _ , he told himself.  _ Just that. Colleagues.  _ And that had been true right up until Peter Lukas had dragged Martin into the Lonely. A wave of panic crashed through Jon. He had to get Martin back, had to at least try to repay him for all of the kindness he’d shown, had to— had to go after the man he loved.

It was ten o’clock at night in the small Scottish cottage that Jon and Martin shared. Martin finished the chapter of the book he’d been reading and decided to head to bed. Jon had disappeared into his office after dinner, saying he’d wanted to get some work done on his book. Martin would have preferred it if Jon had spent the evening with him, but he knew that Jon couldn’t control when inspiration struck. Better to let him have the evening if he needed it. He’d make it up to Martin later. He always did. Martin rapped his knuckles on the door of Jon’s office.

“Jon?” He called. “I’m going to bed now, love. You should come too.” There was no response from the other side of the door. Martin frowned. He knew that Jon could get absorbed in his writing, but he usually would reply when Martin said good night. Martin opened the door. Jon was slumped across his desk, his head resting on his arms, his glasses on the desk next to him, snoring softly. Martin chuckled, walking over to shake Jon’s shoulder. Jon sat bolt upright, scrambling for something to use as a weapon before he saw Martin standing there. 

“Martin!” He said, putting his glasses on. “What’s going on, darling?”

“You fell asleep at your desk again,” Martin replied. 

“Did I?” Jon asked. 

“Yes,” Martin replied. “Let’s go to bed, come on.” Jon stood up, but instead of walking towards the bedroom, he stood on tiptoe to kiss Martin softly. Martin happily returned the kiss before gently pulling Jon out of the office and into the bedroom. 

“You really should stop sleeping at your desk,” He chided. “I heard it’s bad for your back.” 

“Hmm,” Jon replied, smiling up at him. “I’ll take it under advisement.”


End file.
